


Small People

by FriendshipCastle



Category: Nimona (Webcomic)
Genre: Adoption, Gay Dads AU, M/M, kinda just sprang it on him, no friggin way Ambrosius is ready to be a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendshipCastle/pseuds/FriendshipCastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gay Dads AU.  For my bud Hiccup who also has Gay Dads feelings.  She had nothing to do with this, though.  If she had, it would be like seventy-three million times better.</p>
<p>Some lines are stolen directly from Gingerhaze's Gay Dads comics.  I've included all the Gay Dads art links I could find in the notes (there aren't many) so consider those my citations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small People

Ambrosius knew it was going to end up being a serious problem when Ballister lost his job. Well, okay, Ballister lost his arm first (Ambrosius still felt pretty guilty about that one) and then lost his job. Because of workplace harassment and some seriously ableist slurs, though, Ballister didn’t need to get a new job immediately. He was set for a while. They both were, actually, since Ambrosius had kind of moved in without Ballister realizing it. All it took was a gradual shift of all his possessions into Ballister’s apartment and then hello! Living together! Ambrosius was fine being the primary breadwinner, too. He loved bread, he loved being a model, and he loved Ballister. Still, Ambrosius knew that winning some major lawsuits against elevator companies and Ballister’s previous place of employment wouldn’t be good enough for Ballister. 

Ballister liked to have his little side projects. He’d been a part of the science division of a major electronics company before the accident with the elevator (Ambrosius hadn’t even liked the cardigan he’d gone back to get, which was good because it had ended up being more useful as a tourniquet; he’d given it up without another thought to the biohazard bin at the hospital). Ballister had always had some weird chemicals bubbling and research papers half-written on the side, though. He loved science. All kinds of science, too. He’d called himself a polymath but Ambrosius hadn’t seen him do much math so far, so maybe that was a side project Ambrosius wasn’t allowed to see. 

Ambrosius didn’t mind. He did his yoga and step aerobics classes and watched Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars and CSI. Those were _his_ side projects. He needed some more girl friends, too, because he was super into braiding these days but Ballister’s hair was almost too short for braiding. Ballister’s one real-life friend, Dr. Blitzmeyer, wouldn’t let him play with her hair. Ambrosius’ arms got tired if he tried to braid his own hair. What was the worst, though, was that Ballister wouldn’t go out in public wearing Ambrosius’ beautiful, artistic braids, and what was the point of braiding his boyfriend’s almost-too-short hair if the braids weren’t going to be seen? Ballister wasn’t being supportive of Ambrosius’ hobbies.

Unfortunately, Ballister couldn’t do some of his own side projects now that he’d lost his right arm to that elevator. He kept trying to take notes with a hand that wasn’t there. He’s get a cute little confused expression when that happened that always made Ambrosius feel nauseous. Ambrosius loved the guy, he really did, and it had been literal years since the elevator, and Ballister never, ever brought it up, but still. It had totally been Ambrosius’ fault that Ballister had had to hold that elevator open for so long. And, according to the courts, it had definitely been the elevator manufacturer’s fault for making an elevator that could close on somebody’s arm hard enough to cut through bone.

So Ballister was home alone a lot nowadays with nothing that he could do. He didn’t really have friends other than the scientists he talked to online and the ever-busy Dr. Blitzmeyer. Ambrosius was gone a lot, what with his modeling career and his yoga and step aerobics (he was probably going to take jazzercise next time classes were available at the gym). Ballister and Ambrosius were both orphans (from the same orphanage, and that was an interesting history) so there weren’t even parents to go visit. It kind of made sense for Ballister to start volunteering at the local orphanage. Well, Ambrosius didn’t really get the appeal but it got Ballister out of the house and he’d come home with a little smile and a ton of shitty crayon drawings that he hung all over their walls and refrigerator. 

Ambrosius didn’t really like kids. He’d grown up surrounded by them (first his tormentors at the orphanage, and then his foster family had been enormous) and all he knew for sure was that they were assholes. Children were assholes. They thought it was all about them, like the world was designed specifically to get them what they wanted, when in fact Ambrosius was way cooler than any stupid kid. There were some great children, sure, probably. Ambrosius just hadn’t met any yet.

It wasn’t an issue, though. It really wasn’t. Ballister could do what he wanted with his free time. If he came home with colds more often than not, and totally had glitter glue in his little hipster beard sometimes, and taught himself to decoupage so he could teach art classes, then that was his deal. He wanted to talk about it a lot, though. Ambrosius learned to nod and smile a little at the stories about what the newest child had done. He also learned that Ballister definitely needed a hug every time a kid he’d liked was adopted. Ambrosius was absolutely cool with fake-listening and giving his boyfriend hugs. That wasn’t the bad part.

The bad part, the thing Ambrosius had been worried about ever since Ballister came bumping up the stairs five hours early from work with his bike over his shoulder, breathless and furious and already yelling about lawyers, was when Ballister asked if Ambrosius wanted to come meet some of the kids.

“No,” Ambrosius said.

There was one of those silences that happened when Ambrosius had said something wrong. Ballister was glaring at him.

“What?” Ambrosius said.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like kids. You know that.”

Ballister covered his face with his hand. “You honestly hate children.”

“Okay, I did _not_ say that. I said I _didn’t like_ kids. Hate is a strong word, Mister Drama. I just avoid them.”

“Maybe you’ll like one of the kids I work with,” Ballister said.

Ambrosius was going to give in. He knew it and Ballister knew it. Ambrosius was a pushover. He liked fighting, though, so he said, “No way. I’ve never liked any of the kids I’ve met and I’ve met a lot. You know, when I was also an orphan. Maybe if I go see these kids I’ll get flashbacks.”

Ballister was glaring hard now. “You’re not going to get flashbacks from meeting children. Flashbacks to what?”

“You don’t know that!” Ambrosius yelled, flailing and tossing his hair for maximum drama. “No one can know that!”

“I went through the same orphanage you did, and the foster care system. We both turned out fine. You’re not going to get flashbacks. They’re _children_! You’ve seen children walking around all over the place. They’re just small people.”

Ambrosius crossed his arms. “If you make me go I won’t like them.”

“You’re acting like a kid, you’ll get along with them fine,” Ballister snapped. “In fact, I’m sure you can share tips on pouting.”

Ambrosius tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You could offer sexual favors if I go. That’s a good bartering chip.”

As he’d hoped, Ballister started blushing while also getting a lot angrier. “What… No! That’s not… I’m not going to try and convince you with…” he dropped his voice into a whisper that trailed away to nothing.

Ambrosius started laughing. “Are you kidding me? You can’t say sex now? Oh my god, those kids are fucking with your head.”

“Don’t swear!”

Ambrosius was laughing too hard to stand up and so he flopped down and wailed with mirth. It took him a long time to catch his breath. When he straightened up, Ballister was sitting cross-legged in front of him, looking at him seriously.

“Will you do it for me?”

Ambrosius took in a deep breath and let it out, then hauled himself to his feet. “Yeah, okay.”

Ballister smiled slightly. “Okay.”

“Can you at least make dinner, though, so I feel like I’m not giving in completely?”

“But you are,” Ballister said with a smirk as Ambrosius tugged him up.

“I will drop you on your ass,” Ambrosius said. They both knew he wouldn’t.

*

Ballister was apparently a very popular volunteer at the orphanage because the kids crowded around him immediately. “Bally! Bally!”

“You let them call you Bally but you think it’s dumb when I call you Bally?” Ambrosius hissed. “You hypocrite.”

Ballister was not listening. He was ruffling hair with his left hand and squatting down so more kids could try and hang off of his shoulders. A few kids were holding up drawings of him, drawings of his bicycle, drawings of a wizard and a dragon and a castle.

“I’m cuter than them,” Ambrosius said to his boyfriend’s back. “I don’t get why they get to give you a stupid pet name and I can’t.”

Ballister arose from that heap of children with one in particular, who was gripping a drawing of Ballister that showed him with both his arms, though his right arm was in fact a shark. “This is Nimona,” Ballister said. “Can you take her for me?”

Ambrosius pulled her away from Ballister. He realized he’d been frowning ever since he entered the orphanage. It was probably intimidating but Nimona didn’t seem to care. She glared right back at him and dropped her drawing so she was just hanging between his hands. He didn’t want to bring her any closer to him; children were _sticky_.

Nimona growled low in her throat.

“Is she feral?” Ambrosius asked.

“Ambrosius!”

“That’s your name?” one of the older children said around a thumb.

“Yes,” Ambrosius said coldly.

“It’s dumb.”

“Your face is dumb.” He’d been getting shit for his name throughout his entire life and at that point he _didn’t care_ , but he was certainly not going to take it from some kid whose nose was leaking into his mouth. The little biological weapon backed up closer to Ballister and sank germy fingers into Ambrosius’ boyfriend’s jacket.

“That was rude,” Ballister said. “You should apologize to Mito.”

“You’d better burn that coat before you come in the house,” Ambrosius told him. “You know how I hate getting sick. What did you want me to do here, exactly?”

“I wanted you to meet Nimona,” Ballister said. “We’re adopting her.”

Ambrosius looked at the child in his hands. She was a pudgy toddler whose red hair was clipped back with little yellow barrettes that were already falling out. Her round face was crunched up, her eyes boring into him, and she suddenly bared her teeth which were surprisingly grown in for someone so young. She growled again.

“Why?” Ambrosius asked.

“She needs a home,” Ballister said. “I wanted you to meet her first, though.”

“I repeat, _why_?”

“I thought it would be less of a shock.”

“Bally,” Ambrosius said, because the hell he couldn’t use pet names if children were allowed to, “you’re an idiot.”

“I’m starting to see that, yes,” Ballister said. He reached out. “I’ll take her.”

“Yes, you’d better,” Ambrosius said, handing her over to Ballister’s good arm. “You know you just broke one of the biggest rules out there with regards to orphans, right?”

“I remember,” Ballister said quietly. Nimona nestled into his shoulder but didn’t stop glaring at Ambrosius.

“You don’t mention adoption until the papers are final,” Ambrosius continued, because clearly Ballister did _not_ remember the biggest orphanage rule.

Ballister just looked at him.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Ambrosius groaned. “You have to be kidding.”

“You wanted a pet,” Ballister said quietly, with a very faint smirk.

“I was thinking a cat,” Ambrosius said. “Low-maintenance and fuzzy. She is neither of those.”

“Nimona’s going to come with us,” Ballister said. “She needs us.”

“‘Us’? Really, she needs ‘us’?” Ambrosius snapped.

“Not in front of the children,” Ballister said.

“Are you still going to come back and play with us, Bally?” said a child who’d put two and two together. “Even though you’re takin’ Nimona?”

Ballister smiled down at him. “Of course. I couldn’t leave all of you.” 

Goddammit, Ambrosius loved it when Ballister smiled. It was _not_ common. At all. Ambrosius could count precisely how many times he’d made Ballister smile and it was in the double-digits but that was after some serious childhood history added on to more than five years of dating. And now this little kid was making Ballister smile. Ambrosius turned on his heel, said, “Then I’ll see the two of you back home, I guess,” and left.

*

Ambrosius was angry-dancing to his Yelle-Beyonce-Ke$ha playlist when Ballister finally came in. He was hunched over to hold hands with Nimona and he winced at Ambrosius’ music. If he’d had a free hand, he’d probably have covered his ears. “Turn that down!”

Ambrosius glared but pressed the volume button until the music was barely a whisper. “Oh, you’re home. Did you bring dinner?”

Ballister sighed. “Yes, we did. Nimona?”

The little girl held out a plastic bag of take-out in one pudgy fist. Her face was still packed into a scowl as she met Ambrosius’ eyes, then deliberately let go of the bag. It smacked onto the hardwood floor in a way that was highly dramatic and defiant considering it only had to fall a few feet.

“What is it?” Ambrosius asked, glaring right back at her.

“We went for pasta,” Ballister said. “And now it’s time for Nimona to see her new room and get ready for bed.”

Ambrosius felt his mouth drop open. “Did you furnish an entire room without me noticing?”

“You’ve been in Japan for three weeks,” Ballister snapped, gently steering Nimona and her little pink backpack towards the room Ambrosius had always thought of as Ballister’s lab. “I had plenty of time to put something together.”

Indeed he did. Nimona gasped in amazement as she took in the underwater paradise Ballister has created for her. There was a bed with a headboard that looked like it came straight out of the movie _Jaws_ , a kelp corner, and colorful fish painted on the wall. The ceiling light in the middle of the room was painted like a beachball and bolted to the ceiling were a pair of mannequin legs that made it look as though some unwary swimmer was going to meet an untimely end.

“Jesus Christ,” Ambrosius said. “You watch way too much Home Makeover when I’m gone. I’m adding it to the blocked shows list. Once I figure out how to work the DVR.” 

“Come on, Nimona,” Ballister said, _totally ignoring him_. “Let’s brush your teeth. I can read you a story afterwards.”

Ambrosius went off to sulk and eat his fettuccine alfredo while watching _Teen Wolf_. Ballister had given up a whole room of science for a kid. He’d just packed it all up and who even knew where it was. Maybe he didn’t care about science anymore now that he had a kid to take care of. Maybe he wouldn’t care about anything now that he had a kid to take care of. 

Ambrosius left the dishes in a heap on the coffee table because it would piss Ballister off but slunk back into Ballister’s lab/the new kid’s room when he was finished. 

Nimona was already fast asleep in the middle of her twin mattress, making little growling noises. Her bed dwarfed her completely but she wasn’t alone; Ballister had found her a stuffed shark to keep her company. Ballister was just watching her, a little dazed.

“Why did you have to get us such a weird baby?” Ambrosius grumbled, elbowing Ballister and putting his hands on his hips.

“She likes sharks,” Ballister told him, like it was a totally normal thing for little girls to like. “I bet she grows up to be a marine biologist.”

Ambrosius snorted. “Or a serial killer.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Sharks are the serial killers of the sea.”

Ballister rolled his eyes and tugged him out of Nimona’s room. “Everything’s a serial killer in the wild. It’s the only way to survive.”

“It doesn’t make it better that she likes them,” Ambrosius said.

Ballister sighed and rubbed at his weird hipster beard that Ambrosius was definitely going to shave off his face one night while he was sleeping. “I’m excited about this, okay?”

“You got us a _kid_ without consulting me!” Ambrosius hissed. 

“Do you want to break up?” Ballister asked softly. "I'd understand. I obviously overstepped. I just... I didn't see it until I saw both of you looking at each other like you were about to fight right there in front of everyone. I honestly don't know what I was thinking. I would understand if you wanted to, ah. End. This."

Ambrosius looked away to stare around their apartment. Okay. Ambrosius had been harboring a crush on the guy since they were kids in the orphanage together and Ballister stopped the older kids from kicking his chest cavity in for the third time. They’d found each other in their late twenties, like all star-crossed lovers should (after Ambrosius had gotten _plenty_ of experience in the dating field and Ballister had been busy sciencing). They’d been dating more than five years. Ambrosius had taken the guy’s arm off on the eighth date, for fuck’s sake, which had been pretty bad even by Ambrosius’ dating mishap standards. They were now sharing an apartment that Ambrosius didn’t spend a lot of time in, what with his modeling schedule and the possible jazzercise. Of course Ballister would get kind of lonely in an environment like this. And those kids were cute in a way that Ambrosius couldn’t compete with, which was awful to admit to himself. But still…

“I don’t like to share,” Ambrosius said.

“What?”

Ambrosius could feel his face heating up so he turned his back completely and said, “I don’t like to share.”

“I know,” Ballister said.

“Then why are you making me?”

“Because you’re spoiled,” Ballister said, but he said it in a way that was teasing rather than accusing, so Ambrosius didn’t start shrieking at him. “And I really want to see what you’re like with a child. And I think you’ll do great at it, if you give it a chance. You only have to be a part-time father. You’re gone so much, I don’t think it’ll be a problem for you.”

Ambrosius crossed his arms and glared at the window, which was showing a serious downpour right now. “But what about when I _am_ here and you still spend all your time with Nimona?”

He felt Ballister put a hand (his only hand) on Ambrosius’ shoulder, then step close enough that he could put his chin on Ambrosius’ other shoulder. “That won’t happen.”

“Kids are more work than pets,” Ambrosius snapped, though he didn’t move away. “You _need_ to spend time with them. That’s important, I know that and you know that because we didn’t get a lot of time when we were kids. See, this is why I wanted a damn cat.”

“She needs us,” Ballister said into his ear. “You even get to be the fun dad.”

“Of _course_ I’m the fun dad,” Ambrosius said, twisting so he could glare at Ballister better. “You’re a stick in the mud and I’m awesome and hot and have a great taste in TV shows and music and—”

Ballister kissed him and smiled, which was always a funny sensation. Ambrosius had never encountered anyone else who smiled while kissing. It was like Ballister didn’t even take it seriously. This was the one thing in the whole wide world that he didn’t frown and mutter and take notes on.

“Thanks for trying this for me,” Ballister said.

“Yeah,” Ambrosius said. “Well. I love you. And I’m not giving you up to some evil little kid who likes sharks.” 

Ballister snickered at that and leaned in to kiss him again.

*

Nimona did not like having her hair braided, which was pretty awful.

“She bit me!” Ambrosius yelled. Somewhere, Nimona was running around with his comb.

“You’re fine,” Ballister said, examining Ambrosius’ pinky finger. “She didn’t even break the skin.”

“Kiss it better,” Ambrosius said with a pout.

Ballister rolled his eyes and did so.

Nimona did like Ambrosius’ special cereal (a careful combination of Froot Loops and Lucky Charms marshmallows that made Ballister gag). This meant there was less for Ambrosius, but it also meant that he could come home and find both cereals waiting for him to carefully mix them together. This was not awful.

Nimona liked sharks, which was weird.

Nimona liked growling and did not like speaking in complete sentences and for some reason called Ballister ‘Bossdad’ and did not call Ambrosius anything. This was also weird. Worryingly so. 

“Shouldn’t you put her in speech therapy or something?” Ambrosius asked Ballister one night when Nimona had been put to bed.

“She’s fine,” Ballister said. “She’ll learn in her own time.”

“Yeah, but we have child specialists now because we don’t live in the middle ages,” Ambrosius pointed out. “She can learn way faster than ‘in her own time.’”

“She’s fine,” Ballister said, and that was that because it’s not like Ambrosius cared _that_ much.

Nimona liked temporary tattoos. A lot.

“Spiders!” Ambrosius screamed when he saw her. “Oh my god, and the millipedes! What the hell is on that kid?”

“Language,” Ballister said. “She liked the bug tattoos.”

“Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew,” Ambrosius chanted.

Nimona cackled and chased him around the apartment for ten minutes before Ballister managed to snag her and get her to settle down with Animal Planet’s special on oceans.

Nimona did not like taking baths. No surprise there. Ambrosius liked to sit outside the bathroom door every other night and giggle to himself at the terrible splashings and at Ballister’s yelling and at Nimona’s shark impersonations.

Nimona did not like loud, sudden noises, which seemed totally valid. Ambrosius didn’t really like them either. He stopped slamming doors when he was mad at Ballister and just stomped around and flopped on every available surface with as much dramatic flair as he could muster.

Nimona always looked angry. Nimona even slept with a grumpy expression on her little face. Ambrosius had not seen her smile (except mischievously) since she came home with Ballister and got to see that magnificent yet slightly disturbing room he’d designed for her. She just seemed to glare at everything (especially Ambrosius) and eat and chatter to herself or Ballister.

“Okay, but seriously,” Ambrosius said one day when Nimona had backed up the toilet and was now sitting on the counter so her socks wouldn’t get wet, singing a song of her own devising. “What the fuck is wrong with this kid?”

Ballister chucked a soggy picture book at him. He was on hold with a plumber, who was probably already overcharging them to pull three rolls of toilet paper out of their pipes.

“Hey!” Ambrosius snapped from where he was trying to sop up some of the toilet water (thankfully unused) with some beach towels. “It’s just a question!”

“Don’t be _rude_ ,” Ballister said, shooting a glance at Nimona. She absolutely wasn’t listening, so Ambrosius didn’t know what Ballister’s problem was. He wouldn’t talk shit where she could hear. He wasn’t a _complete_ dick.

“Listen,” Ambrosius said, “I just want to make sure she’s going to be okay when she heads off to pre-school. I don’t want those asshole kids eating her alive. And you know they will. Never forget; kids are assholes.”

“She’ll be _fine_ ,” Ballister said. He straightened up suddenly and said, “Yes, yes, I’m still here. Do you have the estimate?”

Ambrosius hiked his Juicy Couture sweatpants a little higher and kept slapping towels down on the toilet water puddle. He was probably getting bags under his eyes from all the stress. He was actually looking forward to his upcoming job in Bangalore for their fashion week. He was going to be violently ill for three days, of course, as he always was when he went somewhere with spicy food, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with Nimona.

This was the first time Ambrosius had left knowing Ballister would have somebody there with him to keep him occupied. It was surprisingly comforting to know he wouldn’t be alone. Nimona would be starting school right before Ambrosius returned, too, which was good. Maybe he’d get more time with Ballister while the kid was learning social skills in preschool. Maybe they’d teach her to care about something besides sharks.

What Ambrosius found when he returned was that his boyfriend was going in to talk to the head teacher at Nimona’s school and he was not happy about it. The whole cab ride back from the airport, Ballister complained about how Nimona had been sent home from school just because she wouldn’t tell the teacher her name and about her family. She wouldn’t draw her house or her parents. She wouldn’t take naps at nap time or sit down and listen during story time. She wouldn’t color inside the lines on the worksheets the teacher handed out. Ballister found this absolutely horrifying, an indicator of how education standards were becoming more and more rigid without any room for creative play. Nimona stared out the window the whole time, pawing at the glass and humming to herself.

“I don’t understand it,” Ballister grumbled, helping Nimona out of the car. Ambrosius paid the driver and headbutted Ballister until he got out too. 

“What don’t you understand?” Ambrosius said. “They want kids to act a certain way. A predictable way. Nimona doesn’t act that way.”

Ballister glanced over his shoulder at Ambrosius. “You didn’t act too predictably, from what I remember.”

“That was a long time ago,” Ambrosius grumbled. “You don’t remember very well. I was absolutely amazing in every way.”

“Yes,” Ballister said, “but you didn’t color inside the lines on worksheets.”

“No,” Ambrosius had to admit.

“You drew dragons,” Ballister continued. “And knights. And me, a lot.”

“Okay, I lied, I remember. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We do,” Ballister said. He was allowing Nimona to drag him towards their building. “I don’t want you thinking our girl’s messed up in any way.”

Ambrosius chewed his lip over the ‘our girl’ but it probably wasn’t a good idea to bring up the fact that he definitely didn’t have any authority since she was right there. “I just don’t see what you think you’re going to tell the teacher.”

“I’m going to tell her that Nimona doesn’t need to be singled out, that she doesn’t need to conform to her strict rules, that she isn’t some kind of horrible dictator or director of children, that— No, Nimona, I can’t pick you up right now.”

“Up,” Nimona demanded, waving her plump arms and glaring.

“No,” Ballister said. “You can climb the stairs.”

“Up.”

“Stairs.”

“Wow, way not to be a dictator,” Ambrosius said.

Ballister sighed. “I pulled something the other day in my shoulder. I don’t want to aggravate it.”

There was way too long a pause before Ambrosius surrendered and said, “It’s cool, I got her.”

But, “No,” she said when he bent down to pick her up.

“Come on,” Ambrosius said. “Bally’s hurting and I’m not.”

“You have luggage,” Ballister pointed out. “And don’t call me that.”

“You answer to it when kids call you that,” Ambrosius said. “Don’t have double standards. Come here, Nimona. I can get you and my luggage because I’m buff and beautiful and awesome.”

“No,” Nimona said.

“Then you can walk up,” Ambrosius said, and slung his duffle bag over his shoulder. “Come on, _Bally_.”

“I’m fairly certain there’s a casino that goes by that name in Vegas,” Ballister said. “Nimona, let Ambrosius carry you.”

“No.”

“It’s fine,” Ambrosius said. “Come on.”

“Why not?” Ballister said to Nimona, ignoring Ambrosius completely again. No wonder kids loved him—he gave them his undivided attention like they were real people instead of kids.

“Doesn’t like.”

“See, she hates me,” Ambrosius said. “I feel great now. Great to be home. Can we go upstairs?”

“She said ‘doesn’t like.’ Hate’s a strong word, remember?” Ballister said. He turned back to Nimona. “Why don’t you like him?”

“No. Doesn’t like.”

“Can we go?” Ambrosius said.

“Do you mean he doesn’t like you?”

“ ‘Es.”

Ambrosius paused. “I don’t not like you.”

“That was convoluted.”

“ ‘Es. Don’t like.”

“No, Nimona,” Ambrosius said. “I mean, I like you.”

“No. Don’t.” Her little glare was getting teary around the edges, which. Ow. Heartstrings were vibrating from overplucking.

“Okay, listen,” Ambrosius said. “I’m sorry that I’ve been acting like a jerk because you’re here and Ballister pays a lot of attention to you and not to me even though I’m super hot and gone a lot. It’s not your fault. And it’s great he adopted you because he’s a really great dad. I’m, uh. I’m a really not-great dad. But I’m still your dad and therefore I like you. We’re not getting rid of you, if that’s what you’re worried about. If anything, he’d get rid of me before you, but I love him and I can definitely learn to love you too. Definitely. Because you’re cute and interesting for a toddler. Please don’t cry, okay?”

Nimona’s face was crumpled up and leaking. “Confusing.”

“Sorry,” Ambrosius mumbled. He could feel Ballister’s gaze burning into his left ear and dear god he hoped he’d said something right.

Nimona suddenly stuck both her arms in the air. “Up.”

Ambrosius blinked. “Uh. Me?”

“Up.”

“…Okay.” He settled his duffle further back behind him and hefted her. “You’re a heavy little shark, damn.”

“Damn.”

“Oh, sh— sugar,” Ambrosius said. “Don’t say that in school.”

“Damn damn damn,” Nimona said. “I’m a shark.”

Ambrosius smiled at that. “Heck yeah you are.”

“Sharkbait,” she said, and started chewing on his hair.

“Oh, jeez, gross,” Ambrosius said.

“At least it’s not your finger,” Ballister said behind him. Ambrosius glanced back. Ballister raised his eyebrows and mouthed, “I love you.”

Ambrosius blew his boyfriend a kiss, settled their daughter more firmly on his hip, and worked his buns and quads all the way up the stairs to their home.

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeeey never do something drastic like adopting a kid without telling your partner. Don't do that. Uncool. Ballister only does it because everything's ramped to eleven in his universe.
> 
> Most of the backstory and relationship stuff I pulled from Gingerhaze's art of Gay Dads AU. I always saw Ballister holding Nimona, with Goldenloin kinda off to the side or just holding Ballister, and I figured he's a jealous weirdo who thinks he's the hottest shit so no way he'd like a kid. At first. But he's been in the adoption situation the way I wrote it, so I think he understands kids way better than he pretends to. He's definitely Fun Dad later. He just needs to warm up to her. And he did in this fic, kind of. He's an unreliable narrator that's for sure. He was surprisingly fun to write as a shameless narcissist. 
> 
> Sources for art and a rough story concept:
> 
> http://gingerhaze.tumblr.com/post/64782110704/no-matter-what-happens-remember-that-there-is
> 
> http://gingerhaze.tumblr.com/post/78033607862/in-gay-dad-au-did-ballister-still-lose-his-arm-because
> 
> http://gingerhaze.tumblr.com/post/78032004170/more-alternate-universe-where-gay-dads-adopt-a
> 
> http://gingerhaze.tumblr.com/post/78032920581/adopted-nimona-demands-to-go-as-a-shark-every-single
> 
> http://gingerhaze.tumblr.com/post/69087375076/look-sometimes-an-artists-just-gotta-draw-cozy


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